


Refuge

by PoliticalPadmé (magnetgirl)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Force Ghost Qui-Gon Jinn, M/M, The Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9399986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetgirl/pseuds/PoliticalPadm%C3%A9
Summary: Force Ghost Qui-Gon Jinn visits Darth Maul





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Filigranka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/gifts).



> When a world ends, there's always something left over. A story, perhaps, or a vision, or a hope. This inn is a refuge, after the lights go out. For a while.
> 
> -Sandman #51: "A Tale of Two Cities"

He doesn’t remember who he was before.

A child. Curious. Idealistic. Naive. Childish. He must have been a child. Before. A woman existed on the fringes of his memory. A powerful woman and he was her more powerful child.

 

“Hello.”

Maul jumped at the voice. He’d thought he was alone. Trapped between worlds, waiting for his mother, but this voice was deeper and softer than hers had ever been. He turned and jumped again.

“You!”

The figure smiled.

“I killed you.”

“So it would appear,” Qui-Gon conceded, the smile still playing on his lips.

 

He remembers rage. He remembers eyes bright with it. He remembers a word whispered into the wind, cutting him in half.

 

“Why do you keep coming here? To me?”

The tall ghost cocked his head, in what had become an annoyingly familiar gesture.

“Perhaps it’s the will of the Force.”

Maul snarled, as he always did when Jinn used those words. The Force had dictated his life, both their lives. . . but Jinn was far more at peace with its ‘will’. “I don’t like it. I don’t want you here.”

“Why?”

 _You remind me of failure._  
_You represent the light._  
_You remind me of what I used to be, what I lost._  
_You represent that loss._  
_You remind me that the light abandoned me. And then the dark did too._ _  
You represent the death I didn’t accept._

“I don’t like it,” Maul repeated, knowing it wasn’t enough of an answer. Nor entirely true.

 

He remembers pain. Shooting from the wound through his whole body. It threatened to overwhelm his senses, his self. He closed his eyes, focused on the Force, imagined it as a blanket pulled tight to cover him. The blanket was deep green, a leftover memory of childhood. Wrapped in its warmth he clung to life.

 

“Something’s wrong,” Maul mused. “Something’s different.”

The ghost didn’t respond with word or gesture. He stood, still -- but not calm. Something was different. Something was wrong.

“What is it?” Maul asked, curious, but also, strange or not, concerned.

“Someone important to me is in a great deal of pain,” Qui-Gon answered, still barely moving, even the blue glow that surrounded him appeared slightly dimmed.

Maul made a dismissive noise. What did Jinn or any of his Jedi friends know of pain? One of his earliest memories was of pain. Receiving his first tattoo as a small child. The pain helped him focus, gave him purpose. He embraced his pain and it made him stronger. “Pain is an excellent motivator,” he told the dead Jedi.

Qui-Gon raised his eyes to meet Maul’s; they were full of sorrow. “Yes. That is my fear.”

 

He remembers a light. A harsh, even cruel light. It hurt his eyes, distracted him. It seemed that time stood still and there was only the light.

 

“What do I have to do to get rid of you?!” Maul’s anguish filled the cavern, punctuated only by his rage. Qui-Gon stood in the middle of it, untouched, as he had been throughout Maul’s tirade. _Do you feel it? Do you sense what I’ve done? Your precious Jedi. I hurt him! Kenobi is suffering! Don’t you feel it? His agony! His despair! I did it. I broke him. I broke him! Don’t you want to go to him? Aren’t you afraid for him?_

Qui-Gon stood, listening, and never flinched.

“I go where the Force leads me,” Qui-Gon answered, with a gentleness that infuriated his audience. “If Obi-Wan had need of me, I would be there.”

“I do not need you!” Maul roared. “I want to be left alone!”

Qui-Gon’s eyes were wide with sorrow. “I’m sorry.”

 

He remembers darkness. A soothing, benevolent darkness. It welcomed him home.

 

“I’m tired,” Maul admitted. How many years had it been? The promised revenge had never arrived. He’d killed many, hurt more. It didn’t matter. He’d been usurped. Replaced. Beaten. How many years? He’d accomplished more alone than he ever had with his master. Alone. . .

“You’ve been fighting a long time,” Qui-Gon reflected, echoing his thoughts.

Alone. And not alone.

“This. . .” Maul stumbled for a word to describe being haunted by an enemy so long he becomes a part of you. “We’ve spent all this time. . .”

“Together,” finished the ghost.

“I’m afraid,” Maul whispered. He was at a crossroads. Keep fighting or let go. His path had never been easy but vengeance had sustained him. What would it mean to choose something else? Was it even possible?

“The Force is with you.”

  
He remembers waking, surrounded by a pulsing blue glow.


End file.
